


This Is It

by ghettoassenglishman



Series: Take my hand--Take My Whole life too [64]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 5x08, Fluff and Angst, Im drunk so it might be shit, Kissing, M/M, Making Love, Porn with Feelings, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 04:54:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4208676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5x08 alternative ending - Ian and Mickey make love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is It

**Author's Note:**

> I needed this. I'm really really drunk so pls forgive me for my very shit writing but the idea wouldn't get out of my head so

Ian looks at Mickey as if he's leaving, as if he _knows_ they might not be what they were. Mickey hates it. He hates the fact that he let himself drink their problems away, that he sat in a hole of self-pity when Ian really needed him. He stands at the side of the bed, looking down towards the boy that looked so small, fragile, so different to tall, built statue of energy Ian once was.

Mickey feels his heart break at the sight, his fingers hooking to the end of his jacket – or Ian's jacket, he wasn't so sure. He cuts through the silence, like a knife slicing through a thin layer of skin, hitting deep and seeping through. “Sorry I'm late.”

Ian just lies there, fear in his eyes, tears on verge, trailing his gaze over and over as if he was trying to memorise Mickey's features before they were whisked away. Mickey moves quickly, shedding his jacket, climbing in next to Ian gently. Ian only shifts a little, giving Mickey a little space to lie beside him. His eyes were still glazed; the ones that were waiting for him to open up and yet, _still_ Mickey never got to grips with doing that.

The small bed is just big enough for the both of them – somehow they fit, like they always did – and Mickey felt himself on the edge, his head laying against the pillow Ian had already occupied himself with. They were so close, closer than they had been in days, maybe weeks, and only the silent breathing of the two of them created the atmosphere.

Mickey pressed a tender kiss into Ian's hair, his hand reaching up to touch Ian's pale, smooth neck. Ian flinches before finally relaxing into it, his mind creating a hundred, million, voices that told him Mickey would be leaving soon. Mickey moves closer, their foreheads were basically touching, his hand still stroking against Ian's slightly damp neck.

Ian sighs, a little relieved but still lured into the darkness that clouded his mind. He holds onto Mickey's wrist, keeping his hold firm as if he was too afraid of letting go. He breathes in deeply, closing his eyes as he repeated, _He's not leaving. He's not._ It was hard to believe Mickey wouldn't after everything.

After a couple of seconds of bliss, silence – one thing Ian craved or through his never-ending chatter vibrating through his mind – Ian risks to turn in Mickey's hold. He twists himself under the blanket, hand scared to touch Mickey where it once belonged. Mickey just blinks, his expression a mixture of emotions Ian both felt and feared. That's when Ian finally noticed the cut against Mickey's face. Ian gasps a little, he hesitates to move but does it anyway. Slowly, he strokes his thumb against the cut on Mickey's cheek, chewing guiltily on his bottom lip.

Mickey's eyes flutter closed, letting out a breath he had trapped for what felt like an eternity. He takes hold of Ian's wrist, wrapping his fingers around Ian's thin bone. He sighs loudly, letting out all the grief, the anger, the fear of loosing Ian just wash away. Ian scoots closer, his hot breath tickling against Mickey's cheek. Mickey finally opens his eyes.

Ian's looking at him like the sun shone out of his ass, like he had _saved_ him somehow. Mickey knows it's bullshit; he wasn't some glorious, strong saviour that Ian wanted him to be. He would never be that. For the time being, he would try. It felt could to _feel_ Ian after the silence. He leans forwards and gently presses his lips against Ian's, lavishing in the soft touch of the younger boys flushed lips.

Mickey didn't leave Ian's flinches unnoticed, instead, he wraps an arm around Ian's waist, keeping him steady as a shock flashed through his body. Mickey pulls back, ready to ask if he was out of order or if he had fucked up enough to have lost him. But, Ian just looks back, his eyes tender and filled with content, as if Mickey had granted him a gift that no one else could.

It wasn't a smile, even though Mickey wished it was, but Ian's face sort of light up. His pale skin flushed under the kiss, his eyes glazing in a way that Mickey only knew was nerves. Ian moves slowly, as if Mickey was broken when, in fact, Ian was the one still in pieces. He plants his lips back onto Mickey's and deepens the kiss with a gasp between their lips.

Mickey shifts in his awkward position, hand hooking softly on the back of Ian's neck. They move, quietly and barely any struggle at all. Ian hovers above him, hand resting lightly against his chest. They kiss for a while, exploring eachothers mouths, getting to know one another once again. Throughout the last weeks Mickey felt that he hardly knew Ian, that he had lost that spark they once had. But it was back. It always came back.

Mickey runs his hands over Ian's arms, trailing them down towards the bottom of his shirt. Ian kisses down his neck, light sweet kisses that Mickey could barely feel. Mickey lifts Ian's shirt over his head, breaking their lips before attaching them back as soon as Ian's chest became exposed. Ian moaned delicately into the kiss, his hand moving lower towards Mickey's pants, unbuckling them with light perversion.

They move slow to remove their clothes, each movement flowing angelically to the next. Ian kissed along Mickey's collarbones, his eyes wet and fingers cold. Mickey runs his hands down the toned curve of Ian's back, remembering each and every feature, scar, freckle that he nearly told himself to forget. Ian's hands trail slowly down Mickey's chest, down towards his leaking cock beneath him. Mickey gasps, back arching a little against the small mattress, his mouth moving swiftly against Ian's. It was slow, it was precise, it was beautiful. It seemed they were together, finally, as one, somewhere else in a place that was lighter than air.

Ian pulls down Mickey's boxers, his eyes watching Mickey with pure concentration and what Mickey hoped was love. Ian's hands skim Mickey's cock, running with the smooth rhythm of their lips. He dances his finger against Mickey's ring of muscle, teasing but in need to make Mickey feel undone. He pushes his finger in, catching Mickey's gasping lips with his own.

Mickey feels like this was better than all the other fucks they have had – even if he wouldn't admit it in person – it felt more intimate, more _Ian._ The fact that he might have lost that was tugging at the valves of his heart, bleeding out like an infection that couldn't be cured. Ian crooked his finger, his other hand moving the hair from out of Mickey's face, his thumb stroking against the sore cut that lingered beneath his eye.

Ian adds another finger, his mouth moving to the corner of Mickey's lips, cherishing him. Ian guided himself towards him, rolling his hips softly in a way that almost killed Mickey. They both gasped as their dicks touched, their pants growing louder as they grew closer. Ian finally added the third, trying not to hurt Mickey, trying to make him feel good, thanking him. Mickey realises this, he opens his eyes and even through the dim-light of the room he could see Ian's fear, his want to make everything better, his _need_ to be close to him.

So, Mickey pulls him down with hand firm against his back, his lips latching to Ian's as if they belonged their and never wanted to pull away. It wasn't rough, not like their usual, it was soft, it _meant_ something, and they both needed that. Ian moves his hand, that was holding against his face, down towards Mickey's trembling thigh, he skims his fingers against the goose-bumped skin, lifting a little higher as his fingers worked inside of him.

Slowly, after opening him up, Ian pulls them out, spitting against his hand before lining himself up between Mickey's legs. Mickey gasps for air, gulping harshly as he felt himself build up with the intense, silent intimacy that had been missing for months. Ian looks down, eyes glassed over, hands slightly trembling against Mickey's skin. Mickey nods for him to continue, biting his lip as Ian gently pushed through his walls. They both groan quietly, the words hanging pathetically in the air as they both wondered what the _hell_ they were thinking trying to rid of this.

Mickey never knew a single second could be expanded into something timeless and so archaic. It shook him to his core – there were no words for it.

Ian lips moved with his hips as he started to move. There was a lustfulness to his kiss, beyond just a feeding of his desire, but a yearning to make their flesh one. Mickey felt it. Ian moved so delicately, as if he was _trying_ to make this better. His hips slowly rut into Mickey, the soft movement causing Mickey's stomach to twist and turn into knots as they moved together.

Ian kisses at his neck, flicking his tongue over the sweat that gleamed against Mickey's pale skin. Mickey arches his back, his ass clenching around Ian in the most beautiful way he couldn't understand. The slow movement, the light touches, they were nothing but hurt and love mashed into one – and Mickey, well, he couldn't get enough of it. He runs his hands up Ian's back, before resting them at the base of Ian's neck, his body moving with Ian's as Ian fucked him slowly.

He wanted to feel Ian's breath against his neck, he wanted Ian whispering his name over and over.

The back in Ian's muscles flexed as he hoisted himself up with one arm, groaning into the kiss as he moved inside Mickey. He slides his body onto Mickey's, their checks smacked together, heaving and yearning to feel this forever. Mickey threads his fingers into his hair, tugging onto the red strands as Ian hit _the_ spot each time he moved.

Mickey missed this. All of this. The intimacy. The _love._ Ian.

Ian presses his body further against Mickey's, pulling back from the kiss as if he was ready to say something. Mickey rubs his hands down the nape of his neck, giving him that reassurance that he could speak, that he could finally say something. But Mickey didn't want to hear it, not yet. He didn't want to believe that the words might actually be true, or _if_ at all they could become that. As Ian rolls his hips, Mickey clasps his hand against Ian's mouth, feeling his own eyes brim with tears.

Ian had always done this – unwrapped him with a hunger he had never known.

He had engulfed him entirely, more than physically, but in emotional totality. Mickey places his other hand behind Ian's neck, running his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of Ian's neck. He could feel Ian's heart beating against his own – the fast thud, the pounding as they become one. Mickey felt himself shake, his body trembling as Ian moved so softly within his own.

Mickey felt as if Ian was trying to break free, trying to release himself. Mickey held him like the reigns of a wild horse whose spirit had been broken. He brings him back down for a kiss, licking through the seam and pushing their tongues together. There's a spark; there always is; and Mickey feels it rush straight through his body as the fire in his stomach builds quickly.

Ian is almost whimpering into the kiss, a tear sliding down his cheek and into the crack of their latched lips. His hand remains firm at Mickey's thigh, nails digging into the skin. Mickey feels himself unravelling so quickly, his whole body loosing control as Ian erratically starts to move his hips. They both release within the same time, the thrusts dying out, their fingers still dancing against each-others skin.

Just as Mickey finds himself in a place of pure intimacy, he cries out in a whisper. “I love you.”

Ian hears it, of course he does, his hips still, his eyes tracing over Mickey's shy and embarassed expression. He bites at his lip, the come resting between their chests but he didn't care. He pulls out, sliding himself into the small space beside Mickey. “You shouldn't.” He mumbles.

Mickey feels himself sink. Ian felt that he wasn't good enough, that Mickey _shouldn't_ love him because of everything that had gone on. One thing Mickey also knew, was the fact that Ian was scared. Ian was scared to say those words, _feel_ those words because he was scared that it wasn't real. That reality was laughing directly into his face.

Mickey turns, curling himself around Ian's slightly smaller frame. “I don't give a shit.” He whispers, fingers running down the path of Ian's wet chest. At the moment, he really didn't. He didn't care if anyone walked in, or if Ian tried to run away. There were many things in his life that he hadn't asked for, but Ian – _God,_ ever since he'd seen the scrawny dick he wanted him.

“Mick-”

Mickey tips Ian's chin to the side with a soft finger, making him look into his eyes despite his own tears on verge of breaking. “Ian, I don't give a flying fuck what you think I should do. I fucking love you and _this_ -” He taps Ian's heart, then his head. “is it for me. All of it. Okay?”

Ian questions it for a couple of seconds, swallowing harshly as he fixated his gaze upon Mickey. His hands shake around Mickey, his body like a walking piece of glass. He doesn't hesitate in his answer, because _even_ after everything, he already knew what he'd say. “Okay.”

That's when Ian starts to cry, because he knows he's telling the truth.


End file.
